


Ghost (All the Lovers with no Time for Me)

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, Pining, Post-Hiatus, Pre-hiatus, Soul Punk Era Patrick Stump, all the eras, ghostwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19173868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: Who'd have ever thought Patrick Stump wrote love songs?





	Ghost (All the Lovers with no Time for Me)

**Author's Note:**

> So...I know I've been MIA for a while guys, and I'm so sorry. Part of it was life sort of got a bit much to handle, and didn't leave a lot of time for things I love. Part of it was passing out and smashing my head on some concrete...my brain's been a bit broken lately. But I've missed this, I've missed all of you so much! And there are some incredible stories being written by some of you super talented folks and...I figured if I just put something out there, it was at least a start. By no means is this the most polished, complete, or possibly even thought through story I've ever posted...but it's something, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> This story has been in my drafts forever, and came out of brainstorming with the delightful Shattered_Mirrors_and_Lace about her amazing idea of Patrick as a ghostwriter. As is generally normal (though not always!) I had a plot bunny bite me from talking with her and it turned out MUCH more angsty than her amazing sunshine story! I hope you enjoy, and I swear I'll update my other stories soon!

He had always known being with Pete would be hard work. Anything with him was always a challenge--being his singer had been an exacting task, being his friend an even harder one. Pete Wentz was not an uncomplicated being--he was passionate, flighty, scatterbrained and sometimes unstable. But he was also unfailingly attentive, fiercely loyal, and had all the faith in the world that they were _going places._ Most of all,  the blinding smiles and surprising care that would peek through all the stormclouds made all the tempestuous outbreaks worth it.

 

But being his _best friend_ ...that was a whole new level of crazy. In some ways, Patrick thought he was uniquely suited to the task--he knew when it was all just an act and Pete _needed_ him to push, to not quit even though he was yelling for him to go away, to peel away all the protective layers and _find_ him. That oftentimes when Pete pushed it was to see if he’d pull right back. He knew when Pete curled around him silently that he just needed to know something was safe, and knew when Pete woke up screaming from a nightmare exactly what he needed to hear. Maybe it was just that his brand of crazy understood Pete’s brand of crazy...but they were perfect together. Yin and Yang, Bonnie and Clyde (Pete always said he’d look good in a dress), Sherlock and Watson, Han and Chewie.

 

In some ways, he felt like one of those trellises people put in their gardens for their morning glories to grow on for support. Pete wasn’t _weak_ by any means, but he needed something to bolster him, to help him reach for the sun so he could explode in a riotous display of color and beauty. He needed someone to smile at him from the back of the room when he got up to say something, to reassure him that he was _okay_ , and then he would smile and plunge in with the ferociously-confident courage of a lion tamer.

 

But it was worth it. It would _always_ be worth it, he had known that since the day they had met. The deception lay in the presentation with someone like Pete--he seemed so open, so unguarded and free with his love, his words, his smiles and his thoughts. He would hand out pieces of his heart to a roomful of strangers like they were bottomless cookies on a plate, and then everyone would say that they _knew_ Pete Wentz. They would nod with superior smiles and say _oh yes, Pete. I know ALL about his heartbreaks and fears...he tells the world about them, after all!_ And Patrick would hide a small smile because for all the easy transparency and come-closer secrets that Pete would scatter out like sprinkles on a cake, he knew the truth. He knew the _real_ Pete. He got to see the small, hard-won smiles after Pete pulled himself out of a depressive episode and remembered the world wasn’t such a bad place. He heard Pete’s whispered daydreams and terrors, the ones that kept him awake at night vibrating like a plucked string. He knew when Pete hugged him a certain way that meant _I’m okay and you’re okay and we’re together and that’s all that matters_ and he treasured those embraces.

 

But he could never find a way to say it. He wasn’t the one with the words, he wasn’t the one who could stare at a piece of paper and let feelings and hopes and dreams and fears and anxieties and ideas and metaphors spill out in a heedless rush. The way he felt seemed so clear in his head, but somewhere between his brain and his lips, it would swirl around in a storm that looked just like Pete’s eyes, the curve of his mouth, the sweep of his cheek...and it was gone. He tried to tell him with his hands and his hugs and his smiles how much he loved him, he tried to show him with the extra packet of Oreos he always bought and hid _just in case_ or the fact that he always picked Pete out an orange straw when he bought him a slushie because it was his favorite color. He hoped Pete knew how deep his feelings went, how he was the center of his universe, he was gravity and relativity and the speed of light all in one.

 

There was one way he could say it, though...the one communication medium that had never failed him. _Music_ that sounded like Pete when he breathed Patrick’s name in the middle of the night, lips curved in a smile. A bass line that sounded like his heartbeat. A melody that flitted through his mind when Pete smiled at him...sometimes he would find words that seemed to fit, and he would string them on like pearls on a braided wire until they turned into a song that was entirely too sweet, too full of love and belonging to be a _Fall Out Boy song._ So those he would it email to a guy who had offered once to pass along anything he had. _Ghostwriting_ he thought it was called, and he kind of liked the term. Some people said it was a thankless job, passing your creations on to someone to claim as their own...but he didn’t see it that way. He thought it was more like he was hiding clues everywhere that he loved Pete, bits of mist that the discerning eye would see as more than just coalesced vapor. He like to think that maybe someday, there might be a love song to Pete in every musical genre, that no matter where you looked, there would always be a piece of _PeteandPatrick._

 

Because he had no idea how to say _I love you and I want to be there for you forever and you’re perfect and I want to keep you_. He had no idea if Pete would ever see him as anything but his best friend...but if that’s all he got, that was more than enough. Anything of Pete was enough. So he just kept writing love songs, and sending them to that guy. Occasionally he would go help the artist who bought the song mould it into something they liked better, but he always told the band he was going to see his mom, or his brother, or his cousin. When pressed if he wanted to be acknowledged, he’d just give them a pseudonym he’d come up with years ago and smile when he saw it in the fine print on a record.

 

After all...who would think _Patrick Stump_ wrote love songs?

 

~//~

  


“Why can’t you just _say what you’re fucking thinking_??” Pete was glaring at him from the couch, smoldering eyes under a fringe of dark hair concealed by his ever-present hoodie. “You know I’m not a damn mind-reader, right?”

 

“I told you, there’s nothing to talk about.” Patrick resisted the urge to either lunge over the coffee table and punch Pete or run to the bathroom and vomit. The night before had been the last show of the tour, so they had naturally gotten drunk while eating way too much pizza for two humans _._ Somehow the bottles of bourbon and vodka ended up empty and somehow Patrick ended up on his lap, mouthing at his neck and rocking his hips in the most fantastic way. His mouth had tasted like pepperoni and cinnamon...hands had wandered but they had curled up on the couch afterwards just like they always did and fallen asleep to the glow of _Ghostbusters_ on the television.

 

The next morning, Pete had woken up and prattled to Patrick that _super hot girl from that one place downtown with the good drinks_ actually texted him back and asked him if he would help him pick out an outfit. Patrick had stared at him in wide-eyed shock, stuttering out _what the hell was last night then?_ Pete had looked at him for a minute before smiling that wide smile and nudging him playfully. _We were drunk,_ _nothing to worry about Patty-cakes_.

 

Patrick had stayed quiet after that...brooding silently as Pete rambled about if girls really meant it when they said they didn’t mind being taller than him or if that was actually just code for _wear thicker-soled shoes_ or if that was just biology telling him it wasn’t going to work out. Patrick had eventually pushed him off in a huff and now they were staring each other down over the coffee table of Pete’s California house.

 

“Nothing to talk about? Lunchbox, are you freaking out about last night? Come on dude, we were drunk, it’s no big deal.” Pete was suddenly smiling that infuriating grin that Patrick had seen him use a hundred times on one nameless face after another when the night was over or the tour bus was about to pull out of town. He couldn’t bear to hear the same lines, the speech of _it was fun, but…_ so he grabbed his keys and phone from the coffee table and headed towards the door. He heard Pete yelling, but his blood was pounding in his ears as he tried _so hard_ to not cry, to not scream. But then an arm was yanking him around, gripping his shoulder tightly. “Patrick, wait, was that your first time with a guy, is that it what’s wrong? There’s nothing--”

 

“Will you just _SHUT UP_ , Pete!” Patrick roared, pushing his hand off like it was burning him. “I’m not a goddamn homophobe, idiot, I might not be as _prolific_ with my conquests as you are but all that means is that I can keep it in my fucking pants. God, you’re so stupid sometimes, you know that? All those words and those big eyes and you can’t see what’s _right in front of your fucking face_.”

 

Turning away before he could say something he knew he’d regret, something he could never take back like _I want you so bad but I won’t have you like that,_ Patrick ran out the door and into the morning sunshine. He pulled into Los Angeles International Airport and bought the first ticket to Chicago, and as he stood in line to board, he sent a text first to Joe, then Andy, then to Pete.

 

_ <<I’m going home, I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.>> _

 

Then he turned his phone off, sat in his seat and tried to not think about the giant hole in his chest.

 

~//~

 

A month went by...then another month...and before he knew it, it had been _eight_ months since he saw his best friend, his other half, his _Patrick._ The first four months he spent angry, cussing at Patrick in his head and sometimes out loud for taking away the band, for taking away his friendship. But then he calmed down and took Mikey Way’s advice to _chill the fuck out_ dude and thought about it more. He had tried to figure out, tried to sort through in his mind what had gone so wrong the last time they had been together. Had the blow job been bad? Had Patrick said _no_ and he failed to notice? Was there something he had done wrong or…? He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it between the Patrickness and the hazy remembrances courtesy of booze. He knew that Patrick had taken _Folie’s_ lack of success harder than all of them, viewing it as a rejection of him _personally_ , rather than just an album that didn’t resonate with the majority of their fans. He knew Patrick was unhappy with all the weight he’d gained, feeling like he was tumbling down a cliff with no way to stop. He knew his break-up with Anna had been rough and that he hadn’t found anyone since.

 

He realized about seven months after they officially announced the break that it had been a really long time he and Patrick had actually _talked._ Like, _months_ before the hiatus...they had somehow stopped. Not chatted, or argued, or yammered...but actually sat in the darkness of the bus on a rainy drive and poured their hearts out to each other. Talked about their hopes, about fears they could never speak about in the light of day and dreams that they couldn’t into words until that moment when they were together. He realized that they had all been spinning so quickly in their own separate worlds, that he really hadn’t paid much attention to his best friend in the whole world. It was almost like he had expected their multi-faceted friendship to just keep rolling along like it always had without any maintenance or care on his part. Maybe, he admitted to himself after a year of unanswered text messages and angry emails...maybe that had been a mistake.

 

That’s how he found himself standing in the crowd at Patrick’s SXSW gig at the Dirty Dog. The lights were low, the press of sweaty bodies almost nauseating if wasn’t for the dankly cooled air piped in from above. But the sound--oh the sound of Patrick’s voice. He only did five songs, and Pete could see the nerves in the line of his shoulders but also the joy in his eyes as he sang that he realized sadly had been absent for a long time. He had always known that Patrick was first and foremost a musician, he had never wanted the drama and the fame and the spotlight...but he saw now as he watched Patrick dance and strut across the stage that he _deserved_ it. He was amazing, he was glittering and he was _breathtaking_.

 

So when the set was over, of course he snuck in the back. Patrick was smiling and laughing with a tall man that Pete instantly recognized.

 

“Patrick! Travie!” Pete yelled, and both looked up at him with surprise. Travie swept him up in a long-armed hug, laughing that he didn’t know he was going to be here, and Pete smiled back. But his eyes slipped to Patrick, noticed the fragility around his mouth, the tension on his face now that he saw it up close. They talked amicably, Patrick grinning and answering his questions, laughing at an inside joke with Travie that Pete didn’t understand, but he saw the way none of it reached his eyes. Eventually, Patrick gave his companion a look, and Travie said goodbye with an innuendo and a wink, and Pete realized this was the point where he said something mature and responsible and conciliatory to try to patch up their imploded friendship.

 

“Your show was great.” He said instead, and Patrick’s lips pressed together.

 

“Don’t lie. It was a mess and we both know it.”

 

“No, Patrick, I--” He started but Patrick cut him off with a sharp gesture.

 

“No Pete. I don’t know why you thought I’d want you to be here, but I don’t.” He lifted his chin, giving Pete a steely gaze filled with vitriol. “I don’t _need_ you anymore.”

 

Pete couldn’t help but stumble back, Patrick’s words hitting him in the chest like a blow as he turned his back and walked away.

 

It was hours later, sitting on a cramped flight he had conned his way onto that Patrick hadn’t looked back, hadn’t said anything further...just walked away. Like he knew Pete wouldn’t follow.

  
  


~//~

 

A chime sounded from his phone, the tone he had set to be one thing only. Flicking it unlocked, he saw a screen full of text that broke his heart:

 

_We Liked You Better Fat: Confessions of a Pariah._

 

His heart sunk as he read to the end of the post...reaching the end, he dropped his phone to his lap and slumped back, sentences flying through his mind like knives. His first instinct was to call Patrick himself, but the grit in his tone and the steel in his eyes at SXSW froze his fingers as he hovered over Patrick’s contact in his phone. Sighing, he settled for the next best thing.

 

<< _is he okay? >> _

 

A moment later, he opened Andy’s reply.

 

< _I’ll let you know once I get there_ >

 

Throwing his phone across the room, Pete wondered for the millionth time why he couldn’t find the words to fix his best friend.

 

~//~

  


Three weeks later, Pete decided that enough was enough. He had promised his mom he’d come home for his sister’s birthday, and this bullshit with Patrick had gone on too long. He’d put out a few tweets since the post, telling people he was okay and better now. Pete wasn’t buying it.

 

The whole flight from LAX to Chicago, he thought about how he should do this. Showing up unannounced at Patrick’s show hadn’t turned out very well. He thought about everything from skywriting to carrier pigeons to making it a trending item on Twitter.

 

In the end, he decided on the simplest approach. He sent Patrick an email (to an address he had verified with his publicist was still active) as his plane taxied to the gate.

 

_Patrick,_

_I know things have been hard for you lately. I’m sorry that things haven’t been the same between us, and I don’t know what I can do to fix it, but whatever it is I swear I’ll do it. Not because of any other reason but you’re my best friend, and I’ll do anything for you._

_I’ll be at The Loft tonight from 6-8pm. Please come, give me the chance to fix us. I love you and I miss you and I’m sorry and I’m always here for you._

_Pete_

 

Walking out of the plane and through the terminal, Taylor Swift’s willowy voice was blaring as he walked through the long corridor towards the baggage claim, and he hummed along in his head.

 

_He says he's so in love, he's finally got it right_

_I wonder if he knows he's all I think about at night_

 

_He's the reason for the teardrops on my guitar_

_The only thing that keeps me wishing on a wishing star_

_He's the song in the car_

_I keep singing, don't know why I do_

  


It was a funny thing--love--he couldn’t help but think. The fans had always loved them, always been there and championed them...until now. He remembered the look in Patrick’s eyes when their fans would boo and yammer when they played a song from _Folie_ , and he wondered why anyone would make someone that perfect hurt.

 

~//~

 

He considered spinning around on the bar seat like a five year old, but he was a damn grown up now. He was mature...right? The part of him that was screaming he should get significantly more buzzed in case Patrick actually _did_ come definitely wasn’t mature, but hey. He wasn’t going to do that until at least eight. If Patrick didn’t show...then maybe he would indulge, just to convince himself it wasn’t in sorrow.

 

Glancing at his watch again, he sighed. It was 7:30....he would have thought Patrick would show by now if he was coming. He was lifting his hand to signal the bartender to start the flow of liquid irresponsibility when a soft voice sounded behind him.

 

“Hey.”

 

His head snapped around like a gun was stuck to his back, and he couldn’t hold back a gasp. Patrick was standing in front of him, hands in the pockets of a dark coat and a grey beanie pulled down low over his ears.

 

“Patrick.” His name came out in a rush, and he couldn’t hold back the grin that threatened to split his face in half. Unconsciously he started to get out of his chair to wrap him in a hug, but his best friend merely stepped back, forestalling him as he climbed into the adjacent barstool and settled his coat over the back.

 

“Can I have a bourbon please? On the rocks.” The bartender nodded and poured him his drink. He took a long sip before setting the glass down on the exact center of the napkin and letting out a deep breath. “So...I’m here.”

 

“Yeah.” Suddenly Pete didn’t know what to say, and the realization shocked him. He had _always_ known how to cheer Patrick up--Joe used to tease him that it was his only super-power, other than fitting into girls jeans. But now...with all this time and space and _coldness_ between them...he didn’t know. He didn’t know what to say. “How are you?”

 

A shrug rolled through his hoodie-clad shoulders and Patrick took another sip. “Considering I took a page from 2006 you and posted my deepest, darkest thoughts on the internet, I’m guessing you already know how I am.”

 

“Yeah.” Pete reached out and settled a gentle hand on Patrick’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch or pull away, but he didn’t react either. “I...I’m sorry, man. I wish I could make them all see you like I see you.”

 

“And how do you see me?” Patrick’s voice was hollow, bitter, almost like a taunt but without the energy. “What me do you wish you could show the world?”

 

“Dude, everything about you is amazing. You have the voice of a literal angel, you’re one of the most brilliant people I know, you know more trivia than all of wikipedia combined, you’ve got the best smile in the world and the dance moves of a god, you can write literally anything into a song--”

 

“Whatever.” Patrick fished his wallet out of the pocket of his worn jeans and threw a ten dollar bill on the bar. “This was a waste of time.” He started to stand and Pete couldn’t help it. He couldn't let Patrick just run away again.   


“Patrick, _please_ . I don’t know what I did that was so wrong or how I broke us but _please_ just tell me and I’ll fix it.” Pete took him by the shoulders and tried to get him to meet his eyes. “I promise, whatever I have to do I’ll do it!”

 

Blue eyes had shaded to green in the dim light, and Pete thought he could see a hint of tears sparkling behind the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses. For a moment, Patrick seemed to be caught off guard, eyes wide and his face full of emotion. But then his lips pressed together in a line and he shook Pete’s hands off him. “Give me your phone.” Pete made a small, confused noise in his throat but unlocked his iPhone and handed it over. For a few seconds, Patrick fiddled with something and then gave Pete a look. He grabbed his glass and downed the amber liquid in a single swallow, then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and set Pete’s phone down--none too gently--on the bar. “Just--just listen to that.” Without another word, he slid from the seat and nearly ran from the bar.

 

It felt like he was moving through a haze as Pete turned away from the door slamming shut behind Patrick to pick up his phone. The screen was open to a YouTube video. He fished his earbuds out of his pocket and plugged them in before hitting play.

 

_You wear your smile like a summer sky_

_Just shining down on me and you_

_I swear your heart is a free bird_

_On a lazy Sunday afternoon_

 

_I love the way that you were up for anything_

_Never worried 'bout what people say_

_That's right, oh that's right_

_What we got is_

 

_Just like driving on an open highway_

_Never knowing what we're gonna find_

_Just like two kids, baby, always trying to live it up_

_Whoa, yeah, that's our kind of love_

_Mm that's our kind of love_

 

_Skipping rocks and leaving footprints_

_Down along the riverbank_

_Always holding hands, never making plans_

_Just living in the moment, babe_

 

_You get me laughing with those funny faces_

_You somehow always know just what to say_

_That's right, oh that's right_

_What we got is_

 

_Just like driving on an open highway_

_Never knowing what we're gonna find_

_Just like two kids, baby, always trying to live it up_

_Whoa, yeah, that's our kind of love_

_That's our kind of love_

 

Pete listened to it over and over...trying to figure out what Patrick was trying to say. After the 12th play-through, he googled the song, trying to figure out if there was some pop-culture reference in country music he wasn’t picking up on...but he just couldn’t figure it out. He found some picture on google of the album cover and he scanned the names of everyone involved…nothing. Defeated, he slumped over his third vodka cranberry since Patrick had stormed out and sent a text.

 

<< _m sry idk I dnt get it >> _

 

The little bubble flickered on and off, on and off as Patrick typed and deleted his answer. Finally, three words appeared.

 

< _Check your email >> _

 

Pete flicked over to his email app and refreshed it. A few minutes later a message appeared simply titled _You’re an idiot._ He opened it up and saw a youtube playlist. He clicked it and listened to each song in turn, reading the titles as they played.

 

_“All I Want to Do” by Sugarland_

_“Fix You” by Coldplay_

_“Superman” by Taylor Swift_

_“Lovebug” by the Jonas Brothers_

_“Half My Heart” by John Mayer & Taylor Swift _

_“Somebody’s Me” by Enrique Iglesias_

_“Hey Soul Sister” by Train_

_“Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls_

_“Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars_

_“Teardrops on my Guitar” by Taylor Swift_

_“Love Lockdown” by Kanye West_

 

They were all variations of love songs--not really his thing most of the time. But some spoke of finding the one you were meant to be with, some about the heart-rending loss of knowing you’d never get to be with your soulmate, some about the pain of standing silently and unknown and knowing that would never change. He googled them, looked at who produced them...and then saw something. Each of the songs was credited in some way to an M. V., whether it be in the album thanks or in the line-by-line credits. He searched for whom this M. V. could be with no luck, but that seemed to be the only thing that connected each song.

 

He hit reply and typed blearily, the six? seven? drinks catching up to him. He apparently wasn’t as young as he used to be.

 

_Who is M. V.?_

 

Five minutes the reply showed up on his screen and he about fell off the stool. Catching himself at the last minute he threw a hundred on the bar and dashed out, praying desperately to find a taxi.

 

~//~

 

“ _Patrick Fucking Stump you open this door RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!”_ Pete stumbled up the three stairs and threw himself at Patrick’s front door, banging his fist against it and not caring if the neighbors called the cops.

 

The door opened and Pete fell through unceremoniously, tumbling to the floor in a heap. Looking up, he saw Patrick standing above him, a soft mass of an old band T-shirt and sweatpants and he felt tears burning in his eyes at the guarded, tight-lipped look on his face.

 

 _“Martin Vaughn.”_ He gasped. “ _You_ wrote all of those.” Patrick nodded, the severe look softening just a bit and Pete felt something like hope stir in his heart. He scrambled to his feet and backed away as Patrick shut the door, the realization that had burst on him like a grenade in the bar causing him to shirk away from the hurt, from the possibility of pain. “You wrote all those love songs and....” He wanted to sit back down on the floor and cry, he wanted to grab Patrick by the shoulders and shake him until the truth came out, he wanted to bury himself in his best friend’s arms and hide from the truth. The huge, awful, crazy truth that he was the world’s most _oblivious asshole_. “Did you, are they—

 

“Are they about you?” Patrick nodded, face finally softening back to the boy he knew, a soft, sad smile twisting his lips. A smile that said _I know this is stupid and it’s going to hurt and I can’t help it_ as he hung his head and sighed. “Of course they are.” Blue eyes flashed up to meet his in the darkness and he saw _years_ of pain and loneliness in them. “They’ve _always_ been about you.”

 

“Why--” Pete felt the wall smack against his back as his stumbling feet propelled him backwards, breath frozen in his lungs as he waited for the answer.

 

“--Because you never saw me like that.” Patrick was looking at him with the weight of someone who knows they’re beaten but still lifts their head to look their assailant in the eye as they wait for the finishing blow. “And I was too afraid to break up the band, to take the chance that you’d realize I wasn’t as pretty or interesting as all your other conquests, especially when it…” He swallowed thickly, and Pete could see his throat work in the semi-darkness. “When it meant so much more to me.”

 

 _Oh my God._ All Pete could think about were the looks Patrick had given him over the years, the way he would sigh as he brought Pete water and rubbed his back as he vomited up another night of drinking. All the times he would pull Pete close when he was wrapped up in the darkness of his own head, all the times he would scurry away when Pete brought someone back to the bus, head tucked low like he was walking into the wind. He was frozen, frozen against the wall under the weight of his own sins.

 

“I’m so sorry, I--”

 

“Don’t.” Patrick’s head lifted up and he squared his shoulders. “I don’t want to hear it. You wanted to know what you could do to fix it, but the answer is _you can’t._ I know you, and I know you’d never give up trying to figure it out unless you understood, so now you do.  Now just please go away and leave me alone.” He moved towards the door and Pete suddenly found he could move again.

 

“ _I love you.”_ He gripped Patrick’s shoulders and pulled him around to face him, distantly startled at how thin he was. “Patrick, I’ve _always...._ I’ve always loved you, I just thought you just didn’t want someone so broken.” Patrick’s mouth was hanging open now, his arms slack under Pete’s hands and he took that as the best sign he was going to get to keep plunging forward. “I...you always took care of me, and you always seemed like you just _tolerated_ me, who I was, how messed up I was. I never knew if you were really into guys, I mean you never _dated_ one or talked about it so I just thought that you didn’t feel that way, that you’d never see me like that.” He hung his head. “I just never thought it was an option so I never let myself feel like that for you.”

 

There were tears making silent trails down Patrick’s cheeks as he stared wide-eyed at Pete. “You...really?” He shook his head, wiping the back of his hand under his glasses at his eyes. “You’re not just saying that? This isn’t some line to get the band back together, or to--”

 

Pete shook his head, moving half a step closer and suddenly he could _feel_ Patrick. Feel the heat radiating off his body, he could see the way his chest was rising as he gasped. “I love you, Patrick Stump. Always have, always will.” Another half-step and they were toe to toe, and Pete couldn’t help but bring his hands up to cup Patrick’s cheeks. “What was it you said to me...I just _can’t see what’s right in front of my face.”_ Patrick nodded slowly, eyes widening as he realized Pete was saying back to him his own words. Licking his suddenly-dry lips, Pete caressed his face with his thumbs. “I see you and _I’m so sorry_.”

 

The shuddered breath that tumbled from Patrick’s lungs as he pulled him into a hug full of _it’s been so long_  and _I’m afraid this isn’t real_ and _I might tumble down but will you catch me?_ said it all. He felt tears seeping into the neck of his shirt, and he promised whatever gods were up there listening that he’d make this right, that he’d make up for every second of the last years that Patrick had spent feeling unloved.

 

“--What?” Patrick asked as Pete took his hand and pulled him into the living room.

 

“You still have that auxiliary cord for your speakers?” Pete asked, and Patrick nodded. Moving over to the huge sound system, Pete plugged his phone in and turned the volume to a respectable level before flicking over to the playlist Patrick had emailed him. Pressing play, he turned back to his confused best friend. “I want to listen to them _with_ you.” Patrick’s breath hitched as Pete pulled him to the couch, wrapping around him and laying his head on Patrick’s chest. The familiar beat of his heart sounded under his ear as the strains of guitar sounded and the words floated out to wrap them up. Patrick said nothing, just pulled Pete closer and buried a gentle hand in his hair as they listened to his words, his declarations of love and longing played to them both. A few times, Pete started crying as the heartbreak broke over him as he listened to the words in the context of his best friend, and Patrick murmured soft words as Pete clutched him and gasped _I’m sorry I’m so sorry_ into his chest.

 

Finally the playlist ended and Pete lifted his head. Patrick was looking at him with a gentle expression on his face, and it broke his heart because he knew he didn’t deserve it.

 

“I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to try to make it up to you.” He whispered as he sat up on his knees and looked his best friend in the eyes. Patrick shrugged and gave him that smile--the one that he’d seen peeking out from under a bad haircut in his mom’s basement all those years ago. Crooked and hesitant, but full of enough reckless daring that Pete knew in his heart meant he’d be damned if he wouldn’t try if you have him half a chance.

 

“A worse deal hasn’t come along yet.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, my dears! Find me on tumblr at @a-smile-like-that, I swear I'm friendly! <3
> 
> The two songs without obviously stated titles in the story are by Lady Antebellum - “Our Kind of Love” and  
> Taylor Swift - “Teardrops on my guitar.” Title from "Golden" on Infinity on High.


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